


The Mando Meets The Pirate

by The Corellian Pirate (Turhaya_Hundteth)



Series: The Extract Collection [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adult Content, Angst, Confrontations, Corellia (Star Wars), Culture Shock, Fanfiction, Fiction, Injury Recovery, Inner Dialogue, Mandalorian, Relationship(s), Suspicions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:20:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25079014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turhaya_Hundteth/pseuds/The%20Corellian%20Pirate
Summary: As soon as the strange woman walked in the door of the unfamiliar building, Din slipped the blaster from her holster and placed it firmly to her temple. She froze and put her hands up slowly. The Mandalorian demanded “Did you remove my helmet?! Did you?!!”A short extract from "Beskar Heart: A Mandalorian Tale (A Memoir by Turhaya Hundeth)"Language warning. Adult content.
Series: The Extract Collection [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816246
Kudos: 7





	The Mando Meets The Pirate

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a chapter extract from a larger fictional series "Beskar Heart".
> 
> Following from the end of The Mandalorian Season 1, Din Djarin continues his journey sometime after the showdown with Moff Gideon on Nevarro. With the baby now entrusted to Cara Dune, his flight from danger goes horribly wrong. Stranded with a savage stranger, the Mandalorian must find a way to get to Cara and the child before Gideon and his men kill them all.

As soon as the strange woman walked in the door of the unfamiliar building, Din slipped the blaster from her holster and placed it firmly to her temple. She froze and put her hands up slowly.

The Mandalorian demanded _“Did you remove my helmet?! Did you?!!”_

“I would never remove your helmet. I didn’t even do it to save your life. You can thank me later.”

“Who are you? Where am I? Why am I naked?!”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

Din struggled for a moment and then recalled “The Crest. It... I... crashed.”

“Where did you wake up?”

“On a med bed.”

“Correct. That crash was _five days ago_. The reason you’re naked is the same reason the lower half of you doesn’t smell like a Tauntaun: I’ve kept you clean and treated you as best I could. I had to wait for you to wake up to see if that crash had scrambled your circuits.”

He was reminded of IG-11 “…. Thank you.”  
  


The woman continued “If you want the rest answered, I suggest you put your clothes on first. They’re in the room over there. Check for head wounds while you’re at it. You can take my blaster with you, if it makes you feel better. I’ll make tea _._ ”

Her hands had started to drop. By way of reply, he pressed the blaster into her head.

She said bluntly “Or you can stand here and make small talk with your dick out.”

He lowered the blaster and retired to put on his clothes in private.

The room was small and made of wood. It contained nothing but a large, rough-made wooden bed covered in animal pelts, a wall mounted viewer, and what appeared to be an old Imperial footlocker. The window overlooked an incredible forest valley that sloped away down to a river.

He removed his helmet and examined himself in the large viewer hanging on the wall. The helmet had largely protected his head, but he had no idea how she had managed to stop him drowning in his own vomit or suffocating. His nose had been broken (again) and was filled with dried blood. The vomit was stuck to the inside of the helmet.

He grabbed the towel and water flask she had left for him on the bed and began the task of cleaning up. His face looked like his own. His body, however, was unfamiliar. Thin, weak, and battered. Somehow much older. There were tools and cleaners on the bed too. He turned his attention to repairing the helmet next. The smell was revolting.

Din suspected from the pain that his left shoulder had been dislocated, and both his ankles were black with bruising. Some of his knuckles seemed out of shape and stiff. His body was covered in cuts and bruises. All wounds were clean and well dressed, but some were quite deep. Some had been stitched with a thread of some kind. He must have lost a lot of blood.

He had been cared for, albeit in an archaic way. He owed her an apology. However, he was still suspicious. The Imp locker was not a good sign.

The work done, he returned to the main room. It was a combined kitchen and work area, littered with food, weapons, and an assortment of various ship parts and tools. The room, as with the rest of the house, appeared to be made entirely of rough wood.

Along one wall was the med bed he had woken on. In the centre was a long wooden worktable lined on either side by two wooden benches covered in animal pelts. The woman was sitting there. A stranger.

She was short and had the physique typical of someone who was once fit in their youth, but who had softened over the years. The uneven sound of her gait as she had walked around earlier told him she had a slight limp, probably from an old injury. She was wearing a simple black undershirt, leather vest, and workman’s pants. Tattoos ran around her wrists. He couldn’t quite place her race, affiliation, or accent yet.

He studied her face. She was not beautiful, but there was nothing particularly unattractive about her either. The lines on her skin and grey hairs at her temples told the truth, against the lie of her youthful features. She had seen some years. Faint scars lined her face. Dark circles marked her pale skin under the eyes. Five days of playing nursemaid had clearly taken its toll.

“Sit.” she said motioning to the table across from her.

After a moment’s hesitation, but with the confidence his clothes now afforded, he obliged. He placed her blaster on the table. She took it after her own moment of hesitation, slipping it back in its holster.

In front of the place she had indicated for him to sit was a tall metal cup with a screw top lid, and long thin tube protruding from the centre of the lid. “It’s for you - keep it.” she said “You should be able to get the drink tube under the helmet without having to remove it. If it’s too snug anywhere I can modify it tonight. Saves me sending you to your room. Might make a nice change for you to be able to take tea in company.”

“Thank you. That’s…. very considerate.” He thought of Kuiil. “I’ve never seen one of these cups before.”

She cocked an eyebrow and said flatly “They’re designed for children who can’t drink without spilling.”

“Well, I haven’t drunk tea in the company of anyone since I _was_ a child.” He took a sip. The tea was warm and welcome, and he said “This is a first. Thank you. I think I also owe you an apology.”

This made her smile. It was almost pretty. He wondered why she was so unfazed by him, until he remembered she had seen him naked for the past five days.

“Want your questions answered now?” she asked.

Straight to the point. He approved. “Please.”

“You thought you were course-set into a gravity well, which I can only assume you didn’t mean to do?” she began.

“Correct. Still doesn’t tell me where I am.”

“It doesn’t have a name, because it never existed on record. It’s a small moon I found by accident a couple of years ago. When I hacked central systems to confirm it was undiscovered, I marked the spot as a gravity well on the star charts so no one would come here. There’s no other intelligent, sentient life. Just you and me, and my two hounds. Ton of wildlife. Some not so friendly. When I come here, I just say I’m going ‘off map’. So, Offmap, I guess.”

He was not sure he liked the sound of being stranded in a place no one knew existed.

“And _you_?” he said.

“That’s a little more complicated. You’re a Guild member.”

“I’m not working for the Guild right now. What are you wanted for?”

“Assault. Robbery. Ship jacking. Jailbreaking. Civil revolt….”

His blaster was out of his holster like lightning, but so was hers. They stood across the table aimed at each other’s face. The tension almost froze the air solid.

“Jailbreaking? Hacking central data to change star charts? That stolen Imp locker? You’re a _fucking Pirate!_ ” he spat in angry disgust. He nodded towards her outstretched wrist “I should have recognised the ink: You’re a bomber, and _civil revolt_ is just another name for terrorism.”

Sighing, she holstered her blaster and sat down. After a few seconds, he also sat down, but did not lower his own blaster. He knew better: Corellians had a reputation of shooting first.

“You think you know who I am and want to treat me like an asshole….”

“I know what you are. You’re an Old Clan Corellian Pirate. _You are_ an asshole.”

“All correct.” she said.

He continued “Vagrants. Outlaws. Off grid, backwards savages. When you’re not stealing anything you can get your hands on, you’re fighting, drinking or fucking your own cousins.”

Din leaned across the table and used the muzzle of his blaster to move her head so he could see behind her ear. Through the dark hair, small snippets of black were visible on the white scalp - her head was tattooed too. “How much ink do you have? How many innocent people have you blown up just to strip a ship for parts?”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before, and most of it grossly misinformed.”

_“How many innocent people have you blown up? Stop fucking around and answer the question!”_

Coldly she said “None. Every one of these tattoos? All Empire. All ‘blood for blood’. You don’t like me? _I don’t like you either_. It’s your fault we’re stuck here!”

“Stuck here? What do you mean?”

“You crashed your ship into my hangar!”

 _“What have you done to my ship?”_ he snapped. He was back on his feet. _“If it’s stripped….”_ He jammed the muzzle of his blaster to her head again, and she glared up at him.

“I haven’t done anything to your precious ship. I’m not a dirty little Jawa, you know. It was probably a pile of crap before you wrecked it…”

He hit her with the stock of the blaster across the cheek, and she winced, but continued without acknowledging it.

“Listen, _asshole!_ If anyone should be shooting now it should be _me!_ ” her voice was not shrill, loud or hysterical. Nor was it boisterous and unhinged as he had expected. It wasn’t even challenging and smooth like Cara’s. It was a low, angry growl like you would expect from a threatened old street dog.

She growled on “ _I don’t have a ship either, thanks to your fucking inability to fly straight!_ You say you know Pirates, mate? You know Corellisi? Well, you should know how much _I love that bloody ship!_ Half my hangar and gear is wrecked, _and_ you took out the long-range coms tower, so I can’t send out a signal for help!”

In his anger and suspicion, he had forgotten his injuries and ignored the pain. Five days without movement, the strain of the damage, and the lack of food and water, hit him in a wave of nausea. This, on top of the realisation that he was stranded with a blood-drinker, caused his head to spin and hammer. He thought for a moment he might fill the helmet with vomit again.

She looked at him while he shifted uneasily and said “Now sit and drink your tea before you fall over. You can apologise later.”

He complied but did not lower his blaster.

She said “You’re in no shape to do anything. I’m no youngling. _Everything_ here is broken, thanks to your brilliant navigational skills.” She cocked an accusing eyebrow, then added unexpectedly “But we’re not out of hope yet.”

The Corellian picked up her mug and drank, and her gaze remained firmly on the Mandalorian. As a sign that he was willing to listen to what she had to say, he also drank with his free hand, although he still did not lower his blaster.

She continued “This place has everything we need to survive, and no one to give us trouble. Yet. Now that I don’t have to look after _you_ , I can start assessing the damage you caused. The defence systems are thankfully all working, and the surface coms are good too.

So, we’re stuck, but we won’t die right now. That is if we don’t bloody well kill each other first. Our only options are to wait for someone to help us, or figure out a way off this rock, and we’re not going to do that sitting here with our finger on the fucking trigger.”

“How long to wait?”

“I’m not sure. Weeks. Maybe months.”

“Not good enough. I need to get going now. It’s a matter of life or death.”

With heavy sarcasm “Aren’t they all?”. It earned her an air-jab with the blaster. Rolling her eyes, she said “Fine. Come to the hangar then. Bring your tea.”

***

It was a disaster. The Crest had smashed into the hangar at full force, and it looked like a bomb site.

“What the….?” He was rigid with shock.

He looked at her. She was still looking mournfully at the mess. He holstered.

She started talking quietly, not taking her eyes off the rubble “I know who you are. That much beskar? The Razor Crest? You can only be Din Djarin. Even out here I’ve heard that name. I like to keep my ear to the ground anywhere the Guild likes to walk. Heard all about that shit storm you, Karga, and the Dropper created on Nevarro.”

“You may be grossly misinformed.”

She looked at him “Maybe, but now you’ve brought the heat here. The longer we stay, the greater the risk.”

He challenged her “I thought this was Offmap? That it was safe?”

“It is for now, but what if they find you some way we haven’t even thought of? Imps always have cutting edge tech. My defences are good, but they’re not _that_ good. We’re in this Rancor shit together, Mando, like it or not. Let’s figure out how to make something work.”

He extended his hand “Din Djarin. Keep your hands off my stuff, and I’ll keep the blaster holstered.”

She took his hand “Tur Hundteth. Let’s go back to the kitchen. This shit fight is depressing me...”

_He had to get off this fucking rock._

**Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please hit the kudos button below to let me know.**


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